


Divinest Sense

by Jglbly934TXS



Category: Love Island (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, As Told by a Toddler, Descent into Madness, Existential Crisis, F/M, Headcanon, Paranoia, Tongue-in-cheek, self challenge
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-08
Updated: 2021-02-08
Packaged: 2021-03-14 06:29:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,161
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29291391
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jglbly934TXS/pseuds/Jglbly934TXS
Summary: Prince Bobby and his advisor speak on matters of the kingdom.
Relationships: Bobby McKenzie/Main Character (Love Island)
Comments: 6
Kudos: 7





	Divinest Sense

**Author's Note:**

> Together, we will do the Bobby puzzle.

The ride back to his castle was long. Clouds, laden with rain loomed overhead - threatening to wash away the evidence of his victory. And yet he made the journey slowly, every step of the horse rattled through him, pulsing through his wounds. Another gash across his forehead, it would soon be a new scar. He’d once been called very beautiful - he wondered if anyone could still believe that.

The wooden throne creaked as he sat down, or was it his bones? Every struggle, every battle for the sanctity of his kingdom had taken more of a toll on his ageing body. His hand rested on the hilt of his sword, bloodied from the fight. He was tenacious in his will to live. Once a great ally to these lands, he’d become unreliable. His power surging, becoming dangerous. How quickly friends can become threats, incapable of redemption.

Bobby leaned back and relaxed his weary neck. The cat found his lap without hesitation. So many years. So many fights. How had he arrived here? Gazing out over his nearly empty court, the blood of a wizard he once called family drying in his long beard. This cold place, once filled with mirth and joy. Now, none - inhabited by scant few nobles still milling about - pecking at the crumbs of his divine rule, trying to bring prosperity to their own crumbling castles. 

And Tym, the minstrel, feebly attempting to sing of Bobby’s greatness. His tuneless, strained rhymes falling on aged ears. How Bobby hated Tym.

“Can I have a glass of water please?” He rapped upon his armrest, frustration growing as he watched the minstrel drive more of his courtship away. His father would never have stood for this. King Lukas. His rule was absolute, striking down any opposition. Rewarding incompetence with swift death. That is, until his mind began to fade. 

King Lukas the Fool. Was that the future that awaited him as well? Prince Bobby the Fool? Son of the Fool? Endlessly gazing into his reflection, convincing himself the kingdom was as small as the basin of water which held his ageing visage? His mind deteriorating - locked away, refusing to die. His beloved mother watching as his body dried to a husk.

His mother. The only one who truly understood the puzzle of his mind. Why she wallowed eternally next to his father was something he’d never comprehend. She loved Bobby more than him, he had no doubt - and yet she relegated herself to darkness while he kept the kingdom safe.

Because the threats were real. From every corner of the empire came new adversaries. His sojourn was to be brief, he’d sought a mere exchange of ideas from one of his most trusted spell-wielders. But he had sensed something more. A malevolent energy seeping from the old wizard. Carelessly placed symbols, esoteric notes, images of a horned beast - pieces only one with his sight could assemble.

The wizard denied it, of course, but Bobby was not the fool his father was. Attempted usurpation was to be dealt with swiftly. Brutally. The prosperity of the kingdom demanded it. 

And so the wizard had cried out when Bobby plunged his blade into the old man’s chest, magic failing to stop cold steel from piercing his very mortal heart. The attempt to overthrow his birthright thwarted. His usefulness at its end - extinguished as one snuffs out a flame before the confection burns. 

He’d called him crazy.

And now his name would fade from memory.

“Your water, Bobby” The drawling voice startled him from his thoughts. A pale, muscular hand held out a goblet, adorned in patterns of flowers. Blue, green, orange. Gareth, familiar Gareth. His advisor. His Curia Regis. His friend. 

“Hello Grover,” Bobby’s lips curled into a smile, joy glinting in his eyes as the words rolled off his tongue.

“It’s Gareth, my prince,” the pale man chuckled in reply. “My apologies, I shall promise to be less familiar if you shall promise to call me by my correct name.” Gareth smiled and set the goblet on the table at Bobby’s side. “And greetings to you, Pykul,” he continued, briefly scratching the orange cat’s head.

Gareth, who had been Bobby’s confidant since the beginning of his ascension. Helping him to navigate untold struggles. The seizing of power from his father, the breaking up of Hopeful political rivals, even the assembly of his harem. Gareth was a trusted friend. But today there was anxiety in his eyes.

“Play magnet tiles with me.” Bobby motioned to the wooden chest near his throne. A quick game of strategy would loosen Gareth’s lips and reveal his secrets. The bulky man stepped forward, lifting the chest to set it on a small table before them. It landed with a thud.

Tym sputtered, losing his place in the improvised song. He clapped his hands loudly, averting his gaze from his prince before starting again.

Gareth spoke as he removed the game pieces, “Your journey was much longer than we expected. I must say, I’d almost begun to worry. Sometimes I fear your adventures will take you directly into the depths of the sea. Tell me, how is Gandalf? Still spending his time buried in mouldy tomes?” 

Bobby held back a smile. What did he know? Gareth paused, waiting for an answer before he sighed and continued, “You should know that I’ve been observing the royal guard in their training. The boorish one - Yakub - he grows larger by the day. Perhaps soon his arms will be even as thick as his skull!”

The pale man let out a boisterous laugh, echoing through the hall. Bobby remained stoic, drawing out his advisor’s thoughts. The joy in Gareth’s eyes faded, a formal tone overtook his voice. “I’ve taken the liberty of promoting him to captain in your absence. He’s taken to the role quickly. Already the mens’ uniforms are in better order. He’s also implemented new disciplines - stretching and balance. From the looks of that gash, you may benefit from attending one of his sessions!”

The wound on his head throbbed and he grimaced.

Gareth turned his eyes downward, “No, no surely not. My apologies, my prince.” 

Bobby ran a hand through his silver hair, cast blue by light shining from stained glass. He smiled dimly, his eyes urged Gareth to continue. 

“There has also been much talk of the royal games. The people are quite excited. A vast array of challenges have been planned of both wits and strength. I know many of the nobles find them tedious but I-”

Bobby narrowed his eyes. Pointless drivel, Gareth was simply being evasive.

“No, of course. Other matters of the court can wait ... I suppose.”

The two men sat in silence, gauging each other. Gareth began to distribute the game tiles.

Twice the advisor’s mouth opened to speak, but the words caught in his throat. Finally, he spoke - his head lowered, a quiver accompanying every syllable. “Word has reached the council of Gandalf’s death. They know what you’ve done. They are concerned, my prince.” 

The council - fickle fools watching his every action, judging his motivations. A faceless mob seeing only what they wanted, influencing his desires. Who were they but impotent observers to his reign? Who was an audience compared to a prince?

Bobby watched as Gareth placed his tiles, studying his strategy. A large fortification on his side, very little left for the attack. His advisor aimed to play defensively.

“He was a valuable advisor and asset to our people. His power was formidable. I trust you had reasons for what needed to be done but-” Gareth’s voice cracked, searching for the right words before sighing and continuing, “but the people worry. Your people, my prince, they hear the rumours. They fear you are-” He ended his words abruptly, eyes cast away from Bobby’s intense glare. “You must understand I tell you this only because I care for the kingdom. For you. I don’t want to see you unceremoniously cast aside.”

Bobby sighed and assembled his own pieces. The bulk of his forces near the border, ready to attack. Forming an imposing battalion with cool precision, left with little for defence. The tiles wavered precariously, nearly overwhelmed by the size of the offensive strength.

With their tokens placed, Gareth took the first turn - aimlessly adjusting his strategy to Bobby’s force. “I know how you feel about the council. I will speak with them on your behalf, try to calm them. Help them to understand your motivations. Your actions were surely necessary if such an ally would need to be removed. But if you would tell me what happened, what you saw?”

Bobby used his turn to further consolidate his forces, marching them directly toward his opponent.

“I may also tell them it is your divine right to make these decisions,” Gareth continued. “That a prince should answer to no one, least of all the council.”

Their turns continued as Bobby held his tongue, enjoying watching his opponent’s frustration grow - a valuable distraction.

“Or,” Gareth swallowed deeply, squinting his eyes, “Or I could tell them their prince kills indiscriminately. That his rule is based on illusions. That he ignores his court, his advisors, even the bed of his husband Lord Fabian to go play knight in his kingdom. That the fears of the people have come to pass and Prince Bobby has gone crazy - that he’s become just like his father.”

Pykul shot from his lap as Bobby rose, the world around him fading as anger boiled in his stomach. 

“And that old wizard got stuck in his gizzard for our prince is righteous and true! Keeping us safe now, so we can raise our beloved cows. On this isle of Pooh...pe! Ohhhh!” 

Tym sang out, his words grated against his prince’s ears for the last time. 

He advanced toward the worthless bard, overtaking him mid-note, eyes red as monstrous rage overtook him. 

Tym cried out, his discordant screeching replaced by screams of pain as Bobby leaned down, sinking his teeth into his insignificant neck.

He pulled. Muscle and sinew followed. Blood flowed from the wound, dripping onto his prince outfit and down to his royal blue pants and feet, turning them purple. The minstrel fell. Gurgling in his own quiet puddle. Silenced.

He’d called him crazy. 

Maybe he was right.

The old wizard’s words echoed in his mind.

Gareth sprung to his feet, his face more pale than before. Eyes bulging, he motioned to the dying man. “Bobby! How could-”

“I want a glass of milk,” Bobby muttered through red-stained teeth.

Was it all an illusion? Had he witnessed intent that simply wasn’t there like the reflection of a ghost against cool glass? Or was it the shadow of something true? The pieces were before him, he needed only to assemble them. He and his mother would find a way.

“My prince, why-”

“I want a glass of milk,” Bobby repeated, looking down at the dying musician - his form shuddering gently as life slipped away.

A tear rolled down Gareth’s cheek and he dashed from the court, the sounds of hysteric muttering followed him down the cavernous halls.

Maybe he was right.

He’d called him crazy.

Maybe he was right.

Bobby returned to his throne. Sitting down, he looked out at the now empty court. Only a fading cloud of patchouli and perfume lingered where the nobles once stood. It was wise of them. Which one would be next? The games they played - it was only a matter of time before they would be dumped from his graces to lay sputtering on the marble floor.

The body twitched. Bobby watched, gently rapping his fingers against the splintered wood. Waiting. Gareth would return and speak his mind. They would finish their game.

Gareth, familiar Gareth. Perhaps too familiar.

The milk arrived, and also a plate of crackers. Gareth sat down across the game table. His posture ridged, no longer attempting to hide the frustration in his eyes as he moved his pieces. A foolish move, he’d allowed Bobby an opening into his defences.

“Tym was well-liked by many members of the council. You understand this, yes? You understand what this means?”

Bobby sat, idly playing with the crackers on his plate. The minstrel was nothing but a distracting source of frivolity, of course the council enjoyed his antics. Bobby, however, had no use for his type of amusement. 

He bit into a cracker and moved his forces to the spot his opponent had left undefended. The milk cooled his burning throat, the taste of iron replaced by sweet cream.

Gareth sighed, taking his turn to foolishly retreat his pieces - further weakening the target of Bobby’s attack. 

“You will be dumped from your sovereignty or worse, banished from this island. I want to help but I cannot understand. Your decisions have been erratic, the court is empty! More allies become enemies with every passing day.” Gareth’s voice grew stern.

Too familiar.

Bobby scowled and moved his pieces further toward Gareth’s side of the board. One more turn and he would end this charade of a game.

How would his mother feel seeing him like this? Indulging Gareth.

“And yet you sit here in silence. Offering not a sliver of hope that you are _not_ your father. Not to the council and not to me.” 

Gareth moved his pieces. 

He hadn’t seen it. How did he miss it?

In one swift action, Bobby’s forces were encased. A trap. Simple enough a child should have seen it. 

The symbols. The texts. The wizard sought the horned beast. He’d seen it. He’d seen the inevitable betrayal.

He’d called him crazy.

Had he seen anything? 

“And now here you are. A divine heir baited - surrounded and defeated by barely more than a servant. Your forces gone, your allies betrayed. So tell me, what do you have left?”

Was it for the protection of the kingdom? He was a friend. He didn’t ask. He knew. He always knew. Why did he see the things he saw? 

His eye twitched.

Gareth laughed softly and cast his gaze to the board, moving his pieces with precision. An act so exact it could have been choreographed. “My grandmother used to tell me a story when I was a lad. It was about a fisherman who would spend days or even weeks at sea. He’d net tremendous hauls of fish, but would inevitably lose his catch while defending against serpents and other creatures. When he returned, he’d regale his companions with tales of these monsters of the deep. Time and time again, he’d invite his friends to sail with him. Time and time again, they’d refuse. 

“Finally, now an ageing man - gaunt from a lifetime of failure and near starvation, a single companion agreed to accompany him on a voyage - desperate to give this empty husk a moment of happiness. For fifteen days they sailed and for fifteen days they experienced nothing. No fish, no serpents, no monsters. The old man ranted and raved, ‘I’ve seen it I’ve seen it! It’s you who drove them away! I’ll return to these seas alone and that’s when I’ll find my fortune!’ 

“And he was humoured. Enduring the salt, the air, the sun - all to lend some credence to the persistent musings of a friend.

“But they returned to the harbour, the friend left sunburned and hungry, and our hero returned to the sea. Most believed he starved among the waves, but my nan used to say that the canny knew he finally found his fortune. That it takes a strong, solemn soul to live among the strength of monsters.”

He paused, locking his stare with Bobby. Blue eyes piercing copper before returning to the board. His pieces fell to the prince’s offensive force, but the trap was sprung. His win was assured, if only by slow attrition.

Gareth continued, “Back then, I thought often of her words. Feeling terribly for the old man - living a lonely life, ridiculed, comforted only by his own fantasies. 

“But now? Now my heart aches for the companion. 

“Cursed to see someone he cared for poison his village with lies, to perpetuate falsehoods to the benefit of none. To watch a friend destroy himself with madness!

“And do you know what? The story will forever be about that old man. Not the people he hurt, not the people who spent their waking hours fearing for him, worried about him. Not about those who cared for him, but for the man whose only lesson was that he was better off alone.”

Gareth leaned back in his chair. His jaw tense and quivering. Eyes glassy and he looked through his prince.

Too familiar.

Bobby wordlessly took his turn. Pressed against the wall of his enemy - he could take so many with him. But to what end? He’d made a mistake. Perhaps the wizard spoke the truth. No.

Had he sought it? Had he sought to destroy it? The glyphs. The memories of parchment fading into shadow. Yes, to summon the beast. Or to destroy the beast?

To summon a beast.

Yes.

No, he’d seen what he hadn’t seen. An external threat that only he could destroy and now he was destroyed. His actions terrible and now his punishment severe.

Gareth bit his lip, his words cracked.

“So tell me, my prince, who do I most resemble from my old nan’s story? Am I the sad man searching, grasping at a fantasy? To something unattainable? Am I doomed to be strong - endlessly confronting the monster before me? Cursed, solemnly questing for my purpose until I am left alone.

“Or is it worse. Am I the companion?”

“That’s very crazy!” Bobby yelled.

“Is it? Or are you?”

He’d called him crazy.

Again. 

The pieces fell. His force was defeated. Gareth had won.

Overstepping his bounds. Speaking out of turn. This was not Gareth’s place. He was not to make such accusations - to put his thoughts in the mind of a prince. Who was he? Who was he but a servant, a lesser? Gareth was nothing compared to Bobby. Untrustworthy. Bobby was a prince. Bobby was loved by all. His decisions were his. They were right because they were his.

His decisions were his.

His decisions were right because they were Bobby’s.

The servant was looking at him. The council. The advisor? What other falsehoods had he sowed? How many seeds lay dormant, planted by his most trusted ally?

He would go to her and ask the questions. She would know. Mother would know.

What was her name?

And what if he was wrong. The sliver of doubt burrowed deeper, pressing into his wounds. The taste of blood lingered in his throat. Was he a prince, or was he only wearing a costume - like a child on Samhain?

Was it true? Yes, the wizard had plans. He’d seen them laid out. Disparate pieces - boldly configured before him. 

And what was the intent? To use overwhelming force to overthrow his prince. Of course. He would smite any threats to his kingdom. He had. His past was littered with defeated enemies. And the wizard knew this. It’s why he sought to summon the beast.

A beast only he could defeat. 

That only Bobby could defeat.

That only the wizard could defeat.

He’d seen the puzzle but could no longer see the pieces.

“Oi!”

His vision snapped into focus. 

The voice. 

Gareth stared at his prince with intensity, a cruel smile glanced across his lips. 

His voice. 

Gareth stared at his prince, eyes welled with concern, his hand placed gently on his shoulder.

The advisor was kind, his words quiet. “Help me understand you.”

How he wished to understand. How he wished to put the pieces back together. But he could never do it alone, and he found himself alone.

“I want to do the Bobby puzzle,” Bobby choked, a tear sliding down his cheek. “Momma can do the Bobby puzzle.”

Gareth’s eyes softened, a look of sadness overtook his face.

“My prince, your mother is gone. She has been gone for some time. You need to let her go.”

He’d taken her. They’d both gone from his sight - his mother and Lukas the Fool. Yes, that’s right. She was gone. She’d been gone a long time. Why was it so hard to remember? What was her name? She was gone and wasn’t coming back. She wasn’t coming back. 

Bobby roared in anguish. His voice reverberated through the empty hall.

Gareth winced. Quivering, fear flashed across his eyes. His hand tightened on Bobby’s shoulder.

“Of course my prince. We’ll speak with her at dawn’s first light. She’s resting now. Your father’s condition - it worsens. She tends to him, sees to his needs… endures him. She needs her rest.”

Yes, of course. She needed her rest. In the morning she would help him assemble the pieces. She just needed to rest.

“She needs her rest. And so do you.” Gareth shifted towards Bobby, crouching before him. He whispered, his words like silk against his ears, “My dear prince. Bobby. You are not well and the hour grows late. Your wounds need to heal. Your mind needs to rest. I shall speak with the council. They trust me, surely they will forgive you for Gandalf. I will make them understand. I will make the punishment go away. There are no more monsters. It’s time to rest your weary mind.”

Of course. Yes, Gareth, familiar Gareth. He would speak with his mother in the morning. He would speak with the council. Everything would be as it was. The kingdom would be safe.

A palpable silence overtook the room.

“You have only one decision yet to make,” his loyal advisor motioned to an alcove, the room began to buzz with energy. Gareth returned his gaze to his prince, a knowing smile glanced across his lips. “Who will escort you to your bedchamber.” His smirk, unmistakeable. How he loved his prince.

Bobby looked past Gareth to a familiar sight of the royal harem entering his hall. The smell of perfume was overwhelming. Familiar, soothing. Bobby felt himself at ease. His mind blurred, but calm.

Out they stepped, one by one. 

First, there was Chellis - bubbly and effervescent like a sparkling wine. And much like sparkling wine, headache-inducing if consumed in too large a quantity. A rare pick to be sure, but on particular nights her joy could be intoxicating. This was not one of those nights.

Next came Prija who was gorgeous beyond compare. Yet, it was not her body which Bobby so often sought, but her mind. Conniving and perceptive, a font of secretive information. One night with her was more valuable than hours with his spymasters. A tempting prospect, but he feared what she may extract from him in his weakened state.

The third was Loteh, the witch. Or so she claimed. The outcome of her tarot readings changed as often as the colour of her hair. In his younger years, he could have seen himself with someone like her. Vicious and strong. Now he saw her only as combative and petty. Still, the conversation with Gareth had left him uncertain of his intuition. Uncertain of his future. Perhaps tonight Loteh would offer him the comfort he so badly needed.

And finally, out stepped the woman who so often shared Bobby’s bedchamber. The one he chose most of all, standing above all others. Strange, perplexing, yet infinitely relatable and astonishingly beautiful. He was inexorably drawn to her night after night. The very visage of her fogged his already hazy mind. His beloved Emcey. 

Together, these women shared a room - bonded by their own unknowable code and doomed to a perpetual battle for their prince’s affection. A battle to be chosen. To be seen. 

Did they fear him as other members of the court had? Or did they only bask in his divinity - blinded to the horrors he faced, embracing him as the hero he was? Foolish Gareth - his fears, his mistrust. They would see his deeds and celebrate his greatness. They were wise, the council served their purpose. It was Gareth who’d misplaced his trust, and now he’d revel in the nightly tradition - watching as Bobby chose one of many who loved him. 

They stood before him, their eyes politely avoiding the lifeless bard in the centre of the hall - awaiting judgement. He studied each one, hands clasped firmly behind his back. Each beckoning to him in their own ways. All except Emcey, who averted her gaze - a look of bashful innocence glancing across her face. The game they played nearly every night as if she were unworthy of him. How wrong she was.

“They await your choice, my prince.”

Yes, his choice. It would be right, as it had always been.

“Who is going to do my bedtime?” Bobby asked coyly, his eyes scanning over the line of women. 

The sound of his steps echoed as he walked his line, quietly inspecting them. Pondering his choice for the night.

He passed by Chellis and Prija without hesitation. This was not the night for them. But Loteh, Loteh’s eyes were green. So green, so inviting. More so than before. Had he never noticed? 

Bobby gazed into her, searching for an answer. His stare intense, she stared back, unwavering.

Gareth fidgeted, glancing to the third member of his harem before shifting away.

Interesting. A strategy for the next game, it seemed. He’d let the discomfort linger so as to best to find the source of the pain.

Last, there was Emcey. Her eyes cast downward, avoiding his gaze. Did she fear him? No, she feared only disappointing him. He reached his hand to her face, gently touching her chin, raising her eyes to see him.

She recoiled. Why? Unworthy, unappreciative - she should be so lucky to spend even a moment basking in the presence of a prince, let alone night after night in his bedchambers. His brow furled, his jaw tense - he pulled her close, the hiss of his words lingering against her ear.

“I love you baby,” he whispered, his words barely audible - an undercurrent of rage below every syllable, urging her to slip.

Emcey pulled away, her eyes wide with surprise. “You do? How did you- so you know. Yes, of course you know, my prince.” she replied timidly.

The world around him splayed out with unknowable truths that only he could divine. The pieces of so many puzzles, mixed, piled on one another creating an incomprehensible amalgamation of disparate plans and schemes. And yet, the woman’s words shook him to his core. None of this made any sense.

The wound throbbed. He winced.

He’d called him crazy.

“You look pained, my prince. Is anything the matter?” Gareth slithered at his side. Waiting. Watching for a sign of momentary weakness. Urging him to fail. One careless slip and the servant would be in his place - standing before his array of beautiful women. Choosing what was to be his. Gareth. There would always be someone like Gareth.

The advisor looked to his beloved Emcey. “Of course he knows, I told him this very morning. There are no secrets in this kingdom my lady - at least not from our good prince. And I assure you the child will be seen to as befitting royalty.”

Usurper. A claim to his divine right. He’d be locked away, going mad in the darkness, limbs bound and broken. He and his mother would rot away, just as he and his mother would rot away, just as he and his mother would-

“I’m so happy my prince! My dear, dear prince!” Relief washed over Emcey’s face.

“This child will be a blessing on the kingdom,” Gareth nodded. “Your people will celebrate. The council will be overjoyed.”

Yes. The council. Gareth would make it all go away, he’d only need the help of his prince. Just as always. Good, familiar Gareth.

Maybe he was right.

Bobby’s eyes softened, he forced a smile across his lips. Emcey lit up before him - her joyous grin calming, the mere sight of his beloved soothed his aching head. He reached for her again. Slowly this time, he took her hand and drew it to his lips. He looked deep into her eyes.

Another piece to the puzzle.

“I love babies,” he said, his words velvet. 

She beamed. Silent tears of joy fell from her cheeks. “My prince. Bobby. I love you with all my heart.”

Yes, love. Whatever it took.

She kissed him. Her lips were so soft. So new. If someone was to bear his child, at least it was her.

The world around him fell, sinking into a vast pit of contentment. The monsters were gone. The council was appeased. Gareth was at his side. Familiar Gareth. He laughed quietly to himself as he allowed this one moment of peace.

“No!”

Lotteh broke from the line. She glowered at Bobby, her face twisted into an expression of impotent rage.

“It’s not right! They use you. They don’t appreciate you! It should be me, I was the first!” Her eyes turned to Emcey. “I’ve divined your future and it is to be short,” she spat. “Bound in pain and anguish. Your child is nothing but another parlour trick, veiling the eyes of this kingdom and of your prince.”

A blade. Lotteh drew it from her boot and advanced. Gareth was fast. The traitor made it only a step before his trusty advisor had her in his grip. His arms wrapped around her, pinning her hands at her sides. He held her firmly - close. His face lingered near her ear. A whisper.

Bobby stood before her, looking deeply into her green eyes. She looked back. Contempt.

“You are a fool. A crazed fool.” Her voice was wary, defeated.

He turned his back to her. She’d called him crazy. No more monsters. His fingers sliced the air near his neck. She was to die. Gareth would finish the job. He was tired. His wound ached. He sat.

She’d called him crazy. 

And she was right.

So tired. Exhaustion overtook him. He closed his eyes. The puzzle could wait.

A scream. No more monsters. A thud as the body fell.

Bobby opened his eyes. Gareth stood behind a slumped form.

Another thud. 

The door to his court shifted.

Another thud.

A low roar filled his hall, reverberating off the stone walls.

The wooden doors groaned, splinters shot forward. 

A final thud.

The door opened. His women cowered, Gareth ran. The horned beast entered, wreathed in flame.

The throne creaked as he stood, or was that his bones? The balrog stood before him. 

That only he could defeat.

Bobby drew his sword.

When there are no more monsters, how will I be remembered?

They’d called me crazy.

Am I a prince?

Am I a despot?

He took a step forward, advancing toward the beast - a final mantra echoing on his lips.

“I am Bobby.”

**Author's Note:**

> There's a lot of chatter about Bobby in our household so I decided to ask our three-year-old to describe him to us...
> 
> My challenge was to write a story using his responses (facts about Bobby and things Bobby says) AND have them make sense in context. 
> 
> The end result is this overwrought tale of madness and paranoia.... 
> 
> FACTS ABOUT BOBBY:
> 
> Old man  
> Purple feet  
> He’s liked more than papa  
> Eats people  
> Dresses like it’s Halloween  
> Married to Lord Fabian  
> He plays in his kingdom  
> Kingdom is Poop  
> Fights Gandolf, and wins  
> Wears a prince outfit  
> Very beautiful  
> Blue hair  
> Red eyes, like a monster  
> Also fights the Balrog  
> Bobby is a bad guy and a prince  
> He would laugh if he got a kiss  
> Doesn’t do yoga  
> Likes the glass ghost because it’s cool  
> Plays with crackers  
> Favourite animal is a cow  
> Has a kitty named Pickle  
> He is very cool  
> His pants are purple  
> He roars
> 
> THINGS BOBBY WOULD SAY:
> 
> Play magnet tiles with me  
> Can I have a glass of water please?  
> Who is going to do my bedtime?  
> I want a glass of milk  
> I love babies  
> Hello Grover  
> I love you baby  
> That’s very crazy!  
> I am Bobby  
> I want to do the Bobby puzzle. Mamma can do the Bobby puzzle
> 
> Huge thank you to my wife and son for encouraging me in this insane endeavor!


End file.
